Dies Irae Day of Wrath
by Kichi
Summary: Sequel to “Mask”. The Joker has escaped Arkham. He is driven by hatred and vengeance, not the usual fun and games…COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Dies Irae (Day of Wrath)

AUTHOR: Kichi

PAIRING: n/a

WARNINGS: M rated for violence, gore, trauma, swearing… ya know.

NOTES: AT BOTTOM (PLEASE READ)

ARCHIVE:

SUMMARY: Sequel to "Mask". The Joker has escaped Arkham. He is driven by hatred and vengeance, not the usual fun and games…

_"It wasn't as dark and scary as it sounds. I had a lotto fun . . . Killing somebody's a funny experience." – Albert DeSalvo_

He ran until he thought his lungs would burst. It wasn't easy either; the painkillers and anti-psychotics they had given him had cut his strength in half. The surge of adrenaline that had jolted through him upon his escape had helped, but he was quickly tiring. And he still had to cross Sprang River. He was at a loss for a moment, and he tripped on a root or a rock and came crashing to his hands and knees. He stayed still a moment, catching his breath. His head was swimming. His entire body was shaking. He was suddenly afraid he wouldn't make the river crossing, and would instead be pulled under the swirling, murky depths. He felt an annoying tickle in his throat that set off a coughing fit that left him breathless.

At last his breathing calmed and he climbed awkwardly to his feet. His legs were shaking so hard he thought his knees would buckle and he would be flat on his ass the moment he took a step. He stayed standing and set off again in an ungainly run. He could hear the river, could see the break in the trees up ahead. No one was following him yet, but it would only be a matter of time before someone else went to check on him. Or wonder where the young nurse he'd slain had gone.

Once past the tree line he stopped short a moment, breathless and sweating. It was dark and would remain so for hours. But the river arrested his gaze. It was rushing past as if it had rained heavily all day long. Indeed, it did seem rather high, and he could see branches, leaves, and garbage swirling in the muddy depths. But what choice did he have? He would be caught in an instant if he tried to cross one of the bridges.

He headed to the rivers edge, still panting for air. There was nothing he could do; he had to cross the river. He waited until he was breathing easy, took a deep breath, and leapt in feet first.

Immediately the current swept him away. He knew how to swim and began to kick with all his might, but the current was much stronger. He was headed far downstream. _'At least it's not Gotham river.'_ He thought as he struggled toward the opposite shore. Sprang river was perhaps a quarter of the width of the giant river that fed it. He was quickly growing tired as the current swept him further downstream. It was a struggle just to keep his head above water, but he was making progress. There were several fallen trees and rocks near the shore. There were drainage pipes and sewage pipes jutting out of the steadily rising shore. He kicked as hard as he could, though it seemed his legs were quickly turning to rubber. He saw a huge tree looming up ahead. There was no way he could miss it and he kicked fiercely. He slammed into the trunk with brutal force, and the air nearly stole from his lungs. He clung to the rotting bark for dear life, the water rushing over him, forcing him against it. For a moment he couldn't see or breath as the water rushed over him. He began to pull himself further up the trunk and out of the water. He groaned in exhaustion as he pulled himself onto solid ground.

For several minutes he could do nothing but lie there gasping for air. Each time he got the urge to stand his muscles refused to obey.

"Get up.. you lazy bastard.." he snarled through clenched teeth. Someone had to have noticed his absence in the medic ward. His eyes squeezed shut at the reminder. He couldn't think of it, not yet- preferably not ever. He shook his head in annoyance and rolled slowly to his side and then onto his stomach. He pushed himself up on shaking arms and staggered to his feet, nearly falling again. He took one shaky step, and another, and soon he was stumbling into the forest that separated Sprang River from old Gotham.

It had been too easy to locate his prey. Waving money in peoples faces did wonders. He wasn't stupid after all; he hadn't burned all that money. He had a run-down, shit hole, boarded up crack house in Old Gotham he'd purchased before his incarceration. He'd found it easily, even as exhausted as he was. No one had spotted him save for a few homeless old men, and they paid him no mind once they noticed he was barefoot and only wearing what appeared to be pajamas.

He'd buried a key in the tiny back yard and eagerly dug it up with his bare hands, chuckles escaping him intermittently. Once inside he went to the basement and found his money- stacks and stacks of it. But that didn't make him smile as much as a pile of purple clothing. It was dusty but it had never been worn. No bloodstains decorated it _'Yet.'_ He thought with a grin. He lay the pile to the side and found a bag with his makeup inside. He felt laughter burbling up and nearly went into hysterics as it shook him. His hands were shaking with the urge to smear it on, but first he had to do a few things. And those things would be easier accomplished if people didn't piss themselves as soon as they saw him. Then he spotted another box and his heart leapt. He snatched it up and found knives of all shapes and sizes. Also there was a Glock .17 which he immediately loaded with hollow-point bullets. He took the gun and his largest and smallest knives (a wickedly huge Bowie knife and an innocuous buck knife), with a sigh of pleasure.

"I missed you, darlings. We'll have such fun together very soon."

He went back upstairs with a wad of bills in his hand and out the front door. Immediately he spotted a few young men who looked like they were up to no good.

"Uh, hey there!" he called; waving them over, making sure the cash was visible in his hands. They each headed over quickly, smirking triumphantly as if they had won the lottery.

"Hi!" the tallest one said, a young back man with incredibly long dreadlocks.

"Uh, hey there.." Joker repeated. "I got a job for you boys and if you do as I say I'll give ya each a grand." Their eyes bugged for a moment and they nodded stupidly.

"I need a debit card, first of all. I also need a laptop with a wireless connection. These I need immediately. Tonight. I also need some goddamn food. Another can get me-"

"The banks are all closed-" a young redhead spoke up. Before the Joker could rebuke him the other white boy, with inky locks said:

"I can take care of that, you get his food. Me and Jake will get the computer and the debit card."

"Good boys. But I also need a digital camera. That is very important. Very." He paused then eyed the speculatively. "You do well and I'll pay you well. Now go-" he said dropping several hundreds in their hands. "By the way-" he said as they turned to go. "Do NOT in any way fail to return with what I need. Not only will you miss out of more money, but I'd uh, hate to have to mm, _chastise_ you." He snickered and suddenly the wicked laughter was pouring forth. He noticed their eyes bulge at the familiar sound. Everyone in Gotham had heard it. Now their eyes scanned his face and saw the Glasgow smile. The redhead began to inch away, but the black boy caught his elbow and leveled an awe-struck smile at the Joker.

"Yes, sir!" he gushed, and they were off.

"Hmm... That boy had the look of love in his eyes." He said to himself as he watched them go. "_Give me zealots over hirelings any time_."

The sky was the color of lead. The recent bout of warm weather was at an end and it appeared as if it would not be returning any time soon. Bruce sighed as he stared out the window. The past few months had been rough. He was a wanted man, at least, his alter ego was. And it had seemed like a small price to pay in the face of what could have happened.

Yes, he had done the heroic thing, the right thing. Yet a part of him still felt like a failure. He had saved Gordon's son, his wife and daughter. For that he would always be thankful, but the loss of Harvey Dent gnawed at him. He replayed that night in his mind again and again, wondering if there was something he could have done different.

Everything seemed so much more difficult now. Evading the police wasn't too hard, but the constant realization that he had to was disheartening. He was constantly reminding himself that he had chosen to do this. No one had forced him. Jim Gordon had hated the idea, tried to dissuade him. But they both knew it was the only way. They couldn't let the clown win. Not after all he'd done.

The clown… the Joker.. Still after all these months no one knew who he was. People had come forth claiming to know him, and each one had been proven a liar. There were no records of him anywhere. Nothing. In this day and age it seemed impossible. And it seemed equally improbable that someone like him had no previous criminal records. They had searched hundreds of hospital records for any admittance for severe facial lacerations. Nothing, Nathan, nada. It was maddening. The man was like a demon that had come from the very depths of hell.

He had, of course, heard of the two guards who'd been fired from Arkham for brutally beating the Joker about a month ago, but he was sure they would get nothing more than a slap on the wrist. He'd been correct in that assumption. And a part of him had been glad. Even still, a smaller part of him was envious. At the moment he would relish delivering a beating of epic proportions to the hated fiend.

But there was another part of him that wondered if the clown might enjoy it. The man seemed to get off on his own pain. He wasn't jamming needles into his pelvis like the deviant Albert Fish, but his crazed laughter as Bruce had hit him again and again in the interrogation room had let him know right away, pain was not something the mad man feared.

A few times he had even woken in a cold sweat, certain he heard that laughter echoing through his pent house. God how his heart had felt about to burst from his chest as his panicked eyes sought the darkened corners of his room. A few times he'd even gotten out of bed and checked around to make sure he was alone- and that Alfred was all right.

Some times he even wished he had just let the bastard keep falling. He hadn't anticipated that the Joker wouldn't even set foot in a courtroom. He knew the man was deranged, but he damn well knew that what he was doing was wrong. When he'd found out that they announced him unable to stand trial he had flung a chair at his television, shattering the screen.

He turned back to glance at the new television. A mutilated face peered back at him. He gasped, his heart leaping to his throat. He snatched up the remote control and turned up the volume.

"…Earlier today, murdering one female attendant during his escape. The police have begun a citywide manhunt and have requested assistance from the FBI in apprehending him. I repeat: if you have just joined us, the terrorist known only as "the Joker" escaped Arkham Asylum and is now at large. Anyone with any information is urged to contact police, a fifty thousand dollar reward has been issued for any information leading to his arrest-"

"Oh, God. No!" he cried in dismay.

Paul Faulk was annoyed. He had been searching for a job for what seemed like forever. But ever since he'd been fired from Arkham, no one would touch him. He couldn't even get a gig as a fucking rent-a-cop. Rent was due and it seemed impossible to scrape together enough money. He was getting desperate, doing odd jobs just to feed himself. He was growing ever more angry and depressed at his situation.

And yet he refused to regret his actions that led to him losing his job and being incarcerated (briefly). He was proud of himself in a sick way. He and his fellow employees had beaten the Joker within an inch of his life. At first, he'd gotten scared, thinking they had gone too far as the young man had begun to unconsciously emit a horrible keening cry and blood began to spew from his gaping mouth. That had been one of the worst twenty-four hours of his life- knowing he'd get caught, and dreading it all the while.

But nothing had happened. The young lunatic had healed up just fine and amazingly the guards that had gotten fired had never mentioned his name. When the bastard tried to escape again they decided upon something rather harsh. But it had been something they had wanted to do from the very beginning.

Andy Krekolankis was a murderer and a rapist. He had gotten sent to Arkham on a technicality. He wasn't all there- that was true enough. And they knew he would simply love the Joker, who was surprisingly handsome underneath the grotesque makeup. Even despite the scars. They had known it to be a last resort, an ultimate punishment that they had never had the urge to commit on another.

But the Joker was a live wire; no amount of beatings seemed to deter him from violence toward Paul or his co-workers. Yes, it was a drastic move, but one they felt completely necessary.

So Sam Harwald (a veteran of the violent ward), Jason Markus (an overly-aggressive newbie) and Paul had beaten him until he was barely able to move, then they threw him in Andy's cell. Sure enough Andy found him quite irresistible. And they all smiled wickedly when they heard his panicked cries when he realized just what was going to happen. Paul couldn't help but savor it. He knew it was wrong, but over the weeks he and the others had come to utterly hate the young man. He had fought them at every step; biting and clawing like a wild animal. They convinced themselves it was the only way to subdue him. His anguished sobs had been like music to their ears. And then a deafening scream had ended it all.

They assumed the scream has come from the Joker. But when there was a knock from inside he had been the one to stagger out, his face frighteningly blank. Inside Andy lay in a growing pool of blood, his severed penis lying on the floor by his side.

Paul had nearly lost the entire contents of his stomach right then. But he managed to stagger back out and help Jason haul the criminal to his feet. He could still remember the silent tears pouring from the young man's eyes and the way his body trembled so violently. Yet he had still retained a feeling of victory even as he knew he was about to be in some serious deep shit.

They hauled him to the medical ward and numbly watched as the younger man began to vomit. Then with blank, yet strangely wild eyes he began to claw at his face, shrieking until they'd been forced to restrain him. Dr. Arkham had arrived moments after they sedated him and gave Paul, Jason, and Sam one withering glare.

When they had cleaned out their lockers and headed to the parking lot, the cops were waiting for them.

He smiled at the memory. Half the cops openly praised them, while the other half went about it more subtly. Each received a slap on the wrist- ten hours of community service "-although I believe you already served the community admirably." One veteran officer had laughed loudly, giving Paul a warm slap on the shoulder.

Had they realized the lack of consequences, they probably would have killed him. He smiled at the thought as he slid the key into the lock of his back door and made his way inside. The sunlight was rapidly fading and many shadows filled his kitchen and living room. He threw his coat onto the back of his sofa and went to the bathroom.

The moment he opened the bathroom door a hand locked around his throat. He stared into a pair of wild eyes in shock and horror. He felt agony in sudden intense bursts and heard that crazed, mocking laughter. For a moment he looked down in shock and saw three bright red spots rapidly growing on the front of his shirt. _'He stabbed me… I've been stabbed.'_ The thought formed slowly in his numbed mind. He felt his knees give out and the scarred young man let him fall only to straddle him. Paul gazed up into the painted face and shivered in pain and fear.

"You- ah, don't seem too happy to see me." The young man said and let out a volley of quiet laughter. Paul felt his mouth opening and closing although he had nothing to say. What could he possibly say that would make a difference? "I'm happy to see you.." he trailed off in a sing-song manner.

"Please-" Paul gasped out, the pain making him dizzy.

"Ahtatata…" he chided, patting Paul's cheek. "Did I ever beg you for mercy? Did I?" Paul shook his head and Joker gripped his chin, popping a knife in his mouth. "I'm the one talking here. You will not interrupt me again." Then his face contorted in rage and he leaned closer. "What you did was very, very naughty." He hissed. "I-" he broke off, his voice suddenly cracking, and his eyes shining with moisture. Paul felt his eyes bug in shock as the Joker looked down and a guttural snarl poured forth. "I fucking hate you." He choked. Paul shrieked as the knife tore the side of his face open.

TBC…

A/N: This fic is for 4ofCups, I love ya girl! I had some really messed up family issues that totally gave me massive writer's block. Then my pc took a crap and they had to wipe the memory so I lost what I had written. I knew she really wanted to read the sequel to 'Mask' and I couldn't deny her since I've been such a fan of hers! Thank you so much Megan! YOU RULE!!!


	2. Chapter 2

TITLE: Dies Irae (Day of Wrath)

AUTHOR: Kichi

PAIRING: n/a

WARNINGS: M rated for violence, gore, trauma, swearing… ya know.

NOTES: AT BOTTOM (PLEASE READ)

ARCHIVE:

SUMMARY: Sequel to "Mask". The Joker has escaped Arkham. He is driven by hatred and vengeance, not the usual fun and games…

"Often an entire city has suffered because of an evil man." Hesiod - 800 B.C. -Works and Days

He stood over the dead man, trembling with rage. He had thought carving the bastard up would put a smile on his face. Instead he felt like screaming. Seeing the man's face forced him to remember what had encouraged his wrath in the first place, and he couldn't bear it.

" _'Pretty, so pretty..'_ " A hated voice hissed in his mind. He shut his eyes tight and staggered back. He had to get the hell out of there. He had more yet to do this night and couldn't afford to fall to pieces. But the images wouldn't be banished so easily. He had been so sure of himself too. So sure no one could hurt him anymore. That betrayal stung the worst.

He staggered to his stolen car, flung the trunk open and returned to the house after a moment of indecision. He grabbed the corpse by its wrists and dragged it out to the car. Breathless and sweating he stuffed the corpse into the trunk. He stared at it a moment longer before spitting on the carved face, then slammed the trunk shut with a snarl. He was barely able to open the door, his hands shook so badly. He remembered the night with vivid clarity and began to bash his head against the steering wheel to drive the images away.

"No, no, no.." he groaned and gasped, unconsciously repeating his very own protests from that nightmare. _"No!" he wheezed and kicked his legs madly. He felt large hands tearing his pants and underwear off. "No, no, no!" he screamed, until one of the hands locked around his throat. _His hands flew up to cover his face and he felt an anguished wail threatening to burst forth.

He didn't understand it. Why couldn't he forget? His past was broken in his mind by vast stretches of blankness. He was good at blocking out things he didn't want to remember. He didn't even have to try. He was fortunate he still remembered the lessons learned through his pain, but damn it, if he had to dwell on the things that shaped him into the man he was then he _would_ be insane.

Yet this, this he could not erase from his mind. It clung stubbornly and was somehow dredging up older pain in the process.

_A man towered over him, a knife in his hand, 'Why so serious?' he sneered… A woman shrieking at him, hitting him even as he pleaded with her to stop, thin childish cries, so easily ignored… 'Oh, you're hungry? Well tough shit, brat. It was either food for you or this-" a bottle of alcohol was waved in front of him… 'I wish you were dead!' someone shrieked at him, he felt something ram into his chest, driving the air from his lungs… "Little shit, the best part of you slid down your mama's thigh.."_

"No!" he wailed. "Leave me alone!" maybe he was going insane. _"Don't touch me!" He shrieked frantically as he felt the other man's erection press against his ass. The man laughed and skewered him. _He clutched his head and stifled another cry. "Shutupshutup!" He moaned. He bashed his head against the steering wheel until his head began to swim. It seemed to help a bit, but he was still shaking badly. He forced himself to concentrate. He had plans, big plans. He couldn't break down, refused to fall to pieces. But it was happening anyway. "Just go, go, go." He commanded, wincing as his voice trembled with suppressed emotion. He struck the wires he'd pulled from the steering column together and the car roared to life.

He nearly crashed several times on the way back to his little hole in the wall. He could barely see through a strange haze that had suddenly obscured his vision. He knew what it was, and what it meant but he stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. If he did the pain would intensify and he was unable and unwilling to tolerate it. '_I never wanted you, should have had an abortion instead of you…' A knife quivered above his face and then sank into the soft flesh of his cheek… ' I hate you, die!' He screamed, pummeling the drunken bastard with his fists, then slashing him open with a kitchen knife 'How does it feel?'_

"Shut up!" he screamed swerving to avoid a car and nearly crashing into the front of his house. He staggered out of the car, clutching his head as strangled cries escaped him. "Shutupshutupshutp.." he hissed barreling into the house. _…You never were good enough… Always screw everything up… shut your whining mouth you fucking brat… So, so pretty… wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have those fucking gross scars… you crazy freak, your demented… I wish you were dead! I never loved you… _he began to scream and put his fist through the decaying wall of the kitchen. He picked up a rusted old toaster and hurled it through a window. He punched the wall again, his fist again putting a hole in the ancient plaster. Then he began to slam his head against the wall again, and again, and again.

Finally the physical pain released him. Black spots danced in his vision and he slumped to his knees, utterly spent. A grateful sigh escaped his scarred lips.

Jim Gordon was exhausted. He had been at Arkham for almost twelve hours. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed. They had had an influx of new officers after the Joker had slain so many, which had given him hope, restored a bit of his faith in humanity. But there was only so much a handful of rookies could do. He could not allow them to overlook anything, and wasn't about to sit behind a desk all day like the former Commissioner Loeb. He didn't have that luxury.

The crime scene itself warranted most of his attention, but it was his discussions with Dr. Arkham that had really tired him out. The thought of the madman with an actual agenda for revenge made him feel sick. And the realization that he almost sympathized with the fiend really made him want to vomit.

But that couldn't really be helped. As soon as Arkham grudgingly reminded him of the fact that several guards had thrown the Joker in the cell of a rapist, he felt his stomach turn. He remembered Detective Brock laughing about it, he remembered reading the file and wincing. Especially when he saw the boy without that horrible makeup. And he was just a boy, to Jim. A surprisingly good-looking one at that. He remembered looking up Andy Krekolankis' file afterwards and grimacing in dread. If the Joker had any chance of recovering his sanity, the guards had assured it would be much more difficult for him. The pity he'd felt for the young man had surprised him.

Dr. Arkham had seemed rather dismayed as well.

"He needs help, not more abuse. And I failed in that regard terribly. I can only imagine what he'll do to avoid this place." Jim frowned at the thought. Members of the swat team had reported him falling from the Pruitt building, laughing as he went. His life apparently was not something he prized that highly. Taking him alive this time might be impossible, especially if he was afraid to return to the hospital. "-was almost catatonic for a week after." He hadn't realized Arkham was still talking. "I came to talk to him and he couldn't even look anyone in the eye. I made the mistake of mentioning Andy's name and he began to scream and slam his head against the bed frame. Even before that we had to keep him doped up more often than not. I know people were angry when he was sent here, but he is truly ill. And I'm afraid we've only made it worse. God help anyone he comes across."

He finally left and returned to his office to fill out paperwork, but the day had drained him. He stuffed it in his briefcase and decided to call it a day while he still could.

The sun was long gone by time he got there and the interior of the house was dimly lit. He could tell the TV was on and smiled. He didn't get to spend enough time with his family anymore. Now he wouldn't have much chance, either. At least until they caught the Joker.

"Barb?" he called as he walked in. The kids would be in bed he realized; perhaps she'd fallen asleep waiting for him. He put his briefcase on the table and dropped his coat over the back of a chair and headed into the living room.

At first his mind refused to accept what he was seeing. _What the hell..?_ he wondered. His hand went to his gun, his wife and kids were bound tightly together. A hand caught his wrist and he felt the gun being pulled from his holster.

"Ah, ah, ah.." a voice hissed in his ear, then he felt a shattering pain and darkness enveloped him.

Batman was at a loss. He'd been searching for hours for signs of the Joker's escape route. He saw the area he'd escaped from, knew it most likely that he'd just run straight for the river, but where did he go after that? Old Gotham seemed most likely. He was less likely to be noticed. On the opposite bank was the business district. That wasn't really an option.

He'd gotten a photo of the Joker without the makeup from Alfred, and for a moment could only stare at it in shock. It was definitely not the face he had been expecting. But then again, what had he been anticipating? Someone older, that he was sure of. He showed it to anyone bold enough to be out late. Everyone was eager to spill guts, which was a benefit of being a suspected murderer, but no one had seen him.

He couldn't do anything but look, and listen, and pray the clown slipped up before too many people died. He hated to see it that way, but he had been searching all night and hadn't found a trace of him. He was exhausted, and knew that he would be the one slipping up if he didn't get some rest soon. He had to get in contact with Jim Gordon as soon as possible.

"Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey.." a voice murmured, a gloved hand slapped his cheek. Jim slowly awoke, his eyes slitting open only to slam shut again as pain throbbed through his skull. He tried to reach up and feel his wound and realized he was restrained. "Ah, ah, ah." The voice crooned again and then snarled in a frightening voice: "Open. Your. Eyes!" The shock of hearing that rabid growl forced him to comply. He felt his heart fluttering in his chest and his eyes locked with his quarry.

"W-what?" Jim groaned. He was shocked into silence by a stinging slap across his face.

"Now, now, it's my turn to talk. Tell me, Gordon. I've heard whispers that the Batman is a wanted man. People tell me he's.. ahahh ha ha.. a murderer. Now I know that just isn't true." He scowled, his tongue lashing his crimson lips. "And I'm pretty sure you know it too. So-" he withdrew a giant bowie knife and Jim felt his heart stutter to a halt and restart with a painful thump. "Let's play a little 'Truth or Consequences'. How'd that be?" Jim had no choice but to nod in acceptance. "Oh, goody. Now: true or false, did he kill someone.. or was it perhaps our old friend Harrrvey..?" Jim swallowed nervously, his throat dry.

"It was.. Harvey." He conceded and flinched as the Joker began to cackle.

"I knew it, knew it, knew it!" he cried, laughing again. "My sweet Dark Knight is truly incorruptible! But maybe… Maybe being on the wrong side of the law has changed his mind."

"I doubt that." Jim said. The Joker turned, his expression enraged, the tip of his blade was suddenly mere centimeters from his face.

"Do you?" he snapped, licking his lips.

"It was his idea- to take the fall. He refused to let you win." He said, knowing he was probably digging his own grave by admitting it and praying he wasn't digging the Batman's as well.

"Hmm…" the Joker merely appeared thoughtful. He shrugged. "What a fucking boy scout. I'm afraid I'm beginning to dislike him just a tad." Jim blanched and the Joker caught his unease and laughed loudly, choking at the end. "Don't you worry, Commish! I didn't say I hated him, did I?" He walked out of Jim's line of vision and returned with three cellular phones. "You see, the bat and I are like two sides of the same coin." He began to open each phone's battery case and tossed the batteries into a pile. "Ya see..? We're both equal, opposite, compliment each other perfectly, balance each other…" he began to remove tiny screws from the inside of each phone and peel open the plastic housing, revealing the interior. One by one until all three were gutted. "Although, I think it's safe to say we can exist without each other.. But god, how boring.." he murmured. He drew in a deep sigh and began to cough again. "Damn it." He muttered to himself. While he tinkered with the cell phones, Jim began to test the strength of the ropes holding him down. They were so tight, they were just shy of completely cutting off his circulation. His feet were tied as well, and when he painfully craned his neck to look behind him he saw chains leading from the back of the chair to- he gasped when the view of the chains was blocked by a corpse. A corpse with a Chelsea grin and half his entrails sitting in his lap. He shivered in dread.

"Relax, Jimmy, you're my guest. Pay no attention to that fellow. He was asking for it." He winked at the pale Commissioner. "Actually, to be more precise, your gonna be my bat-bait." He sighed deeply again. "As much as I hate to admit it, the Batman doesn't really.. like me." He said with a feigned pout which quickly turned back into a grin. Jim didn't know what to say. Reasoning with the clown was laughable. Empathizing with him would probably enrage him. Threatening him was a joke. "That Rachel girrrrl.." he purred. "I think ol' batsy had a crush on her."

Jim sighed; he was talking about Rachel Dawes. Jim knew firsthand that Batman had tried to save her instead of Harvey Dent. He hadn't assumed any romantic involvement behind the decision; he just assumed Batman was the kind of guy who hated seeing women get hurt. But he had seen him again, briefly, later that night. After the fire department had arrived at the scene, he'd gone to see how Harvey had fared. Batman was still on the scene. He looked… Defeated. He'd only caught a glimpse of those shadowed eyes and saw devastation. He'd thought he'd imagined it, but the Joker's words took him back to that night. It made him see things a bit differently. Unbeknownst to him, the Joker was watching every subtle play of emotion across his face.

"I think you know what I mean." Joker brought him back to the present with a rakish leer. Jim focused on him again and saw with a shock that the Joker was shoving tiny wires inside the phone into a little ball of plastic explosive. He then neatly stuffed the plastic explosive inside, closed the case and screwed it up tight. He waved the phone at Jim and swiped his lips with his tongue. "Now, I'm going to have to rough ya up a bit, there Commisionerrr.. Got make my debut in style."

"Debut?" Jim muttered hoarsely when the Joker produced a digital camera.

"Ah, yes. I have to get his attention somehow. And I just can't bear the thought of my buddy being harassed by your boys in blue. How can he come out to play if he's too busy dodging you assholes?"

"I wouldn't-"

"I know, I know. He's your knight in black armor, you're as lost without him as I am, hehe." Before Jim could reply the Joker pounced at him delivering a sharp blow to his face. The momentum sent him flying backwards, but the moment he landed the clown was on top of him, hitting him again.

"Bastard!" Jim snarled. The clown laughed for a moment before another coughing fit stopped him. He pounded his chest a moment a scowled before producing a small buck knife. Jim hissed and began to thrash.

"Now, don't be silly, you'll only make it worse for yourself." Joker chirped and brought the knife down in a slashing motion.

For a moment he thought the mad man had missed. Then he felt the searing pain and warmth sliding down his face as the Joker pulled him and the chair upright.

"Won't look good if it all goes in your hair.." the younger man murmured to himself. "Alright, ya ready? Lights, camera, action!"

The sun was rising. He had searched the river's edge and had questioned what felt like dozens upon dozens of people during the long hours of the night. He had tried several times to contact Jim on his private cell, all to no avail. That, more than anything, worried him the most. Jim always answered, even if it was the dead of night and he was at home in bed.

He felt utterly useless, but refused to give up. The Joker would never give up, how could he even entertain the notion? But at last he was done for the night. He needed sleep, and there was no way he could risk being spotted in the daytime, it was simply too dangerous. He couldn't afford to get caught, not with so much at stake. With a weary sigh and a grimace of frustration he headed to his bunker.

He hoped there was some news awaiting him and he wasn't disappointed.

As soon as he turned on GCN he heard what he dreaded and anticipated at the same time.

"-this is a breaking news story: a video was just received by GCN from the terrorist known only as "the Joker" with instructions to play it on air.." the news woman was replaced by a dark screen that instantly grew bright and jumbled as if the camera were being swung about, then the picture swirled again to land upon a scarred and painted face that he'd dreaded seeing.

"Hello there, Gothammm." He began in a dark voice. "I'd like to say I missed you, but the truth is I hate you all and I want to kill you. I'm not speaking to you right now, anyway. My words are for one man, but I will say this. Gotham city is going to pay. You see, I'm not crazy, but I was locked up with a bunch of perverts and whack jobs. That hurt, it really did. But not as much as I'm going to hurt you scum. You see, an eye for an eye just doesn't cut it for me. I'm more an eye for a leg or two type of guy, get it?" he scowled a moment, snarling under his breath, his tongue lashing his lips. Then the camera swiveled rapidly to reveal Commissioner Gordon with a long gash across his forehead. Blood covered his face and nearly obscured the rapidly darkening bruises on his cheekbone and jaw line. "Look here, at your beloved Commissioner Gordon. Do you know how easy it was for me to snatch him up and sprint him off to my den of wickedness?" he chuckled quietly. "Look and learn Gotham, you're all my prey and just as easily overcome."

"Now, Batman, I just want you- and everyone else- to know: this is all your fault. Every life I take, every death is on your head!" he broke off the laugh wickedly. "You had a chance to end my life, you threw me off a god damned building! So why am I here? Because Batman does. Not. Kill. Harvey Dent killed those cops, you know why? Because I lied to him and told him that it was their fault his girlfriend died. Well, it was their fault a little, but it was mostly… Mine.." he broke off giggling. "I set the wheels in motion and the Bat took the blame. Because he knew- Just like I did- that if you pathetic, weak-minded Gothamites realized the truth- that deep down everyone is capable of atrocities, everyone can commit murder with a smile on their face- then you would begin to lose faith in humanity. You would lose faith in goodness, and kindness, and all that pathetic bull shit. You would begin to see the world for what it really is, worthless, meaningless, nothing but a fucking joke!" he snarled his expression growing darker, his voice louder. "You sicken me. Citizens of Gotham, you are nothing but a joke, and I'm gonna deliver one hell of a punch line!" he smiled bitterly. "And Batman, I am very angry with you. Very, _very_ angry. We have much to discuss, and this time, you _will_ listen. Or your pal Gordon, here-" the camera again swiveled to the Commissioner whose features were dark with anger. "Is gonna end up with a permanent grin." The camera caught one last glimpse of his scarred face, his wicked laughter, before it cut out.

"Shit!" Bruce snarled, leaping to his feet.

TBC….

A/N: Damn those cliff-hangers! Although I must say I'm writing pretty damn fast for a change. I already started chapter 3. Also, all reviews are deeply appreciated, so if you like this fic, please leave one and I'll love you forever! :D


	3. Chapter 3

TITLE: Dies Irae (Day of Wrath)

AUTHOR: Kichi

PAIRING: n/a

WARNINGS: M rated for violence, gore, trauma, swearing… ya know.

NOTES: AT BOTTOM (PLEASE READ)

ARCHIVE:

SUMMARY: Sequel to "Mask". The Joker has escaped Arkham. He is driven by hatred and vengeance, not the usual fun and games…

"If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared." – Niccolo Machiavelli 1469-1527

"Oh, ahaha hah ha-" Joker chortled only to break off coughing again. Jim could hear fluid rattling in his lungs. "The hell?" he snarled in annoyance, pounding his chest again.

"So what now? You sent your message. Batman will do everything he can to find you. Not that you made it any easier. Even I don't know where we are." Jim sighed tiredly. The sun was fully risen and he was exhausted. But the clown showed no signs of slowing down.

"The chase if half the fun, Jimmy-boy. And I have work yet to do. There are still a few fools out there who need… correcting." His tongue prodded a scar. Jim tensed. "Now, now. Don't get your panties in a twist. I'm not referring to you, unless of course you try something… I have a little list of names and addresses. And I'm going to stop at each of these places and pay my _friends_ a visit. And as I do you are going to be a good boy and stay where I put you. Now, I can't be going out in the day like this.. unfortunately. So.." he stood and peeled off his outer coats, his waist-coat, his tie and shirt and disappeared from view. A few moments later Jim heard water running.

A young man emerged a few minutes later, hair dripping wet in dark blonde ringlets. His wicked smile and pink scars caught his attention and he was again shocked at how young Joker appeared. He was wearing torn jeans and held a black t-shirt in his fist.

"Now, do you want to come with or stay here?" Joker asked. "You can stay but you'll be covered head to toe in duct tape, and I assume you wouldn't enjoy that much. Or you can ride in the trunk of my car- what's it gonna be?" Jim shrugged, he wasn't sure how to respond. He didn't want either option and the Joker knew it. "Eeeeeerrrr!" he cried, mimicking a buzzer. "Time's up, buddy. Duct tape it is!" He produced a brand new roll with a grin.

Bruce sat in front of several monitors. Each was analyzing the newest Joker footage. There were a few shots of their surroundings leading him to believe they were in a house. Slowing the frames and clearing them up was the only way he could attempt to discover their location. So far nothing useful had turned up. There were plenty of sections in Gotham with older houses. It looked to have been built in the fifties, which helped to narrow it down a lot. But he had to be sure, he needed a second opinion. He called Lucius Fox and sighed in relief when he answered.

"Lucius, I need your help."

"I've been watching the news."

"I thought you would be, I need help locating them. I've been cleaning up the video trying to make a few guesses at the location. Alfred is on his way, but I have to be sure, can you come down to the docks?"

"Of course." He thanked the man and hung up. Alfred would arrive any moment. Lucius would be of great help as well, he was sure. It looked as if a street sign was visible through one of the windows but he was having trouble making it out. He had come up with a few guesses as to what it might say, but he didn't want to act out of haste. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes.

Sam Harwald sat in his living room watching the news. He knew about the Joker's escape, but it didn't bother him in the slightest. He knew the mad man was inclined to blow things up, and generally cause as much chaos as possible. And he knew the best places to do it was down town. The more casualties the better. Sam lived in Old Gotham. It was a less-populated, more run-down section of Gotham. There wasn't much worth blowing up. And the thought of the Joker coming after him was laughable. He figured the Joker didn't even remember him. The boy had been doped up round the clock for the most part of his stay at Arkham. He'd drooled and puked from the meds for much of the time. And the few times he wasn't completely out of it, he was strapped up tight in a straight jacket and tossed in a padded room. The one time he was let out of his room to mingle with the others had been a disaster. He'd immediately fucked the prettiest girl in Arkham, which had galled quite a few guards. He had had to drag the boy to the medic ward after they had finished with him. That had been an ugly sight. He'd been vomiting blood upon himself as Sam and a newbie carted him down the hall on the stretcher.

Sam wasn't one for punishing patients, but he'd seen the effect the Joker had on his fellows. He had to be put in line before he ended up dead. When the young man had again attempted to escape, attacking Sam, Jason Markus, and Paul Faulk, they decided then and there to teach him a lesson he'd never forget. One they were sure would end his violence toward staff for fear of a repeated punishment.

It hadn't been originally their idea, but never the less it had been a good one. Andy Krekolankis was in for rape and murder. His preferred victims were young white men. It seemed like the perfect punishment. Especially when they'd heard of another young man who had come to a similar fate. He was a paranoid schizophrenic who refused his meds time and again and fought viciously with anyone who tried to administer them or restrain him. One trip to Andy's room had rendered him completely docile. Now he was timid and did whatever he was told. It was the ideal outcome. But it hadn't turned out that way in the Joker's case, apparently.

Yet it mattered little to Sam. He no longer worked at Arkham and in a few days he wouldn't even be in the country. By the time he got back the Batman would either kill the worthless son of a bitch or the cops would throw him right back into Arkham. He wasn't afraid.

He got up and went to the kitchen to grab another beer. He opened the can to take a sip and nearly choked on it when a hand gripped his hair and he felt something cold and sharp against his throat.

"Hey there… _buddy_." Snarled a cold voice in his ear. A voice he had heard only moments ago on TV. A voice he had heard scream in pain. He dropped the can and held his hands up in surrender as he felt piss trickle down his leg. The voice behind him began to laugh. "Already? We haven't even started playing yet." He laughed harder and spun Sam around, slamming him into the refrigerator.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Sam began to babble at once.

"I can see that." The young man chuckled, and for a moment Sam blinked in confusion. Then he saw the awful scars and realized, indeed the clown had arrived.

"Please, I'm so sorry-" suddenly the young man's face contorted in rage and Sam felt white hot agony as the knife rammed into his stomach. He cried out in agony.

"Shut. Up." Joker snarled. "You disgust me. You dare lie to me?" Sam was crying and mumbling as his blood began to soak his shirt. "Liars are intolerable. I see you need something special. Now. Open your mouth." Sam's jaw locked and Joker rammed the butt of his knife against Sam's closed mouth, knocking several teeth out. The moment Sam opened his mouth to cry out something hard was shoved inside. It barely fit and he was choking on it and his blood as the younger man threw him to the floor and revealed a roll of duct tape. Sam tried to spit the thing out but the clown covered his mouth expertly with duct tape, and proceeded to wind the tape around his head several times.

Then he sat back to watch the man squirm in agony. He began to laugh as he wiped a few of Sam's tears away and examined them in the fading light.

"I haven't tears enough for what you've done to me. You should be proud of yourself. You should have gone on GCN and told the world. Of course, it was good you didn't. Then I would have to skin you alive. But instead-" he was on him slashing, stabbing, hacking at his flesh while Sam's muffled screams rang out. He tried to defend himself, but it was useless. His arms were covered in cuts as well and then suddenly they weren't working. Then the young man stood, panting. He began to choke. Sam couldn't see anymore, but he could still hear. "You think this is bad, but it will all be over soon I just have to make one phone call." He didn't hear the rest.

He climbed into his stolen car and pulled out into the street. He grabbed his cell phone and dialed. Sam Harwald, and his house, exploded. He grinned and burst into laughter as the explosion rocked his car, then drove off.

Jim Gordon awoke with a start and gasped in pain as duct tape was ripped off his face. The Joker smiled down at him, makeup in place, purple suit on.

"You know, I thought the Bat was smart and here it is already 24 hours since I caught you and he still hasn't shown up. What the hell do I have to do, give him written directions?" he broke off coughing again, this time the spasm lasted longer and by the end he was gasping. "Shit." He murmured in annoyance. Jim studied him closely. He was sweating and the makeup was already running. His eyes had a glazed look to them. When he coughed he sounded like someone who had smoked for years. Which would account for the horrible stains he'd had before they had gotten his dental records. Yet Jim had never seen him smoke, he'd never asked for a cigarette in his holding cell for the brief time he'd been in it. He'd read his files from Arkham; no drugs of any kind had been in his system upon admittance.

Perhaps God was going to show some mercy and gave him lung cancer. The thought almost made Jim smile. Joker held up a box of pizza. "Hungry?" he offered. Jim nodded the smell making his mouth water. "Ah, ah, ah." Joker chided, his tongue snaking out to prod a scar. "A few questions first." He began.

"Ok." Jim muttered, hunger motivating him.

"You have any guesses about the Bat? I mean, who he really is?" he asked through a mouthful of pizza.

"Not really.." Jim admitted. Joker gave him a blank stare then held up a piece of pizza. Jim took a huge bite, sighing with relief. Joker chuckled quietly.

"Why not?" Jim swallowed before admitting:

"I don't really care who he is." Joker raised one eyebrow as if to say: 'Oh, really?' "I was curious at first, but then he came to me, he put his trust in me. It didn't matter anymore."

"Aw, how sweet!" Joker gushed sarcastically. "Are you kidding me? I am just _dying_ to know! Everyone is!"

"People are dying to know who you are, too." Joker scowled, his expression suddenly dark.

"Tough." He snapped. Jim was shocked to see a flash of pain in the young man's eyes. He dropped his pizza and glared at Jim. "I am Joker. That is all that matters."

"Don't you have any family-?" he cringed when the scarred man's eyes widened with outrage.

"Who fucking cares?!" he suddenly roared, flinging a slice of pizza at Jim. "Who cares?" he repeated again, sounding almost wounded. Jim knew he was treading on thin ice and knew he had to choose his words carefully.

"You don't have to be alone all the time, that has to hurt, I don't care how tough you are."

"I don't need anyone." He snarled back.

"Then why are you going through all this? Why use me to lure Batman here? Surely he means something to you-" suddenly the clown was upon him pummeling him with his fists.

"Shut up!" he roared, Jim felt the shock of pain again and again and knew he should have kept his damn mouth shut. Suddenly he was on the floor again, the chair fallen backwards and the clown stood gasping, and then he was choking again. This time the spasm actually seemed to weaken him. He seemed disoriented, exhausted. He sat down gracelessly. "Shut up." He repeated weakly, his face twisting in anguish. Jim winced in pain, but was surprised to note the blows had lacked the strength of his previous efforts.

"I'm sorry." He said softly. He was beginning to see what Dr. Arkham had been talking about. The young man _was_ deeply troubled. He did need help. He began to cough again, this time harsher, by the end he was gasping for breath. He suddenly stood and his eyes snapped shut as he noticeable reeled. Jim gasped, as it seemed the scarred man was on the verge of collapsing. "Maybe you should sit down."

"Fuck off." Joker hissed and stalked out of the room.

"There. Right there." Bruce said, pointing wearily. Strausburg Avenue."

"That's in Old Gotham, I believe, sir." Alfred said with a sigh, rubbing his aching eyes. They had been staring at the screens for hours, manipulating each frame, cleaning it up and focusing. Most were so blurred it was still impossible to read. Lucius pulled up a map on another screen then pointed to the street.

"It's not far from the river. He could have made it there that night." He said. Bruce yawned, rubbing his eyes as well.

"Good." He snapped and stood.

"Sir, with all due respect, you've been up for nearly two days now. I know your concerns, but you need rest." Alfred added.

"Not yet. Jim Gordon is too important. I can't just take a nap and hope for the best. He's counting on me."

"You can't afford to be reckless, either. It's nearly three a.m." Lucius pointed out. "The clown has to sleep too." Bruce smiled wryly.

"Knowing my luck, he doesn't. I can't afford to waste another minute." He began to peel off his clothes and reach for his armor. "Trust me, I'll be fine. If they aren't there, then I'll take a short nap before we start looking again. But I doubt I'll be able to anyway." He began to put his armor on.

The Joker returned moments later, bare-chested. Jim was shocked to see dozens of scars crossing his flesh. Many were clean slash lines and there were several that looked suspiciously like cigarette burns.

"This is how much my family loves me!" he hissed as he drew near. "Take a good fucking look at mommy and daddy's love!" He stared in shock, unable too look away, this close he could even see scars where the younger man had been _bitten_.

"Jesus." He gasped before he could stop himself. The scarred man laughed bitterly.

"This is the joke, you see? Love means nothing, family means nothing. Everything you strive for is nothing." He snarled. "How futile the struggle is when I can end it all with the push of a button." He waved one of his explosive cell phones in Jim's face. "That is fucking hilarious to me. And why shouldn't it be? The bat has my attention, because if he would only see my side he would be unstoppable. And he would be utterly merciless, it would be truly divine. We could bring this city to its knees. It would be beautiful. One day he'll see things my way… He has to." he said. Jim continued to gape. He didn't ever expect to feel pity for the younger man, but there it was and the clown saw it. His features contorted in rage and he gripped Jim by his chin. "I don't want your fucking pity, old man. I don't need it. You are the one I pity. You're the blind fool." He quickly rose again and hissed, his eyes snapping shut. He staggered back a step, his hands rose to his head and he suddenly groaned.

"You should sit down." Jim cautioned. The Joker's eyes opened and for a moment he looked confused. "You have a fever I can tell, my son-" he choked suddenly, praying he would live to see his family again. "He was very sick, just a few weeks ago. You have the same symptoms, we had to take him to the hospital." The scarred man scoffed and staggered closer, pulling Jim and the chair upright again. Jim winced, feeling blood rushing back into his arms.

"Nice try." He snickered. Jim sighed shaking his head.

"I'm not kidding." He murmured.

"I could care less. I still have work to do, and nothing is going to stop me. Save your breath for someone who gives a shit." Jim frowned. The clown truly cared for nothing, not even his own life, it seemed. It was insane, _he_ was insane. He no longer had any doubt.

TBC….

Thanks to those who reviewed, feedback is deeply appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

TITLE: Dies Irae (Day of Wrath)

AUTHOR: Kichi

PAIRING: n/a

WARNINGS: M rated for violence, gore, trauma, swearing… ya know.

NOTES: I forgot to mention in the first chapter that line: _"Give me zealots over hirelings anytime."_ is an actual Joker quote I think it's from Showcase 94 or something I have it but I'm too lazy to look right now…

ARCHIVE:

SUMMARY: Sequel to "Mask". The Joker has escaped Arkham. He is driven by hatred and vengeance, not the usual fun and games…

"_Some men are alive simply because it is against the law to kill them."__  
__Edward W. Howe_

His head was swimming. It was a common sensation when one was forced to take drugs. He ignored it as best as he could. But the occasional blackness swarming up to obscure his vision was becoming a nuisance. He was dizzy and alternately cold and hot. But he had work to do as he'd said before. So much work to do. And this time he had to do it alone. He didn't have time to round up a crew.

"Up, up." He snapped, hitting Gordon hard in the face. The man jolted awake with a gasp and Joker began to cut his bonds. "We're moving, hehehe." He dragged Jim to the back door and outside, cursing every time the man stumbled. He didn't have time for this. Something told him he had moments to vacate the premises before the Bat came storming in, and he just wasn't ready yet.

"Where..?" Jim trailed off.

"You should know better than to ask." The younger man hissed, all traces of humor gone. A car was waiting with its trunk wide open. Before he could protest, Joker flung him inside. He landed in sticky, half dried pools of blood, gasping as the lid slammed down. "Busy, busy.." Joker murmured, coughing again. _Another nuisance._ He started the car with a roar and peeled out. In the front seat beside him sat his Glock .17, an AK-47, a Remington R-15, a Reuger mini 14, and a Walther P22. He had enough ammo to take on an army. Several grenades sat in a cardboard box along with enough plastic explosive to level an entire block. And of course all his knives were present. Even his lovely apple-corer, which was fun for punching holes into people. He sighed fondly as he glanced at his weapons of choice. A lot of people were going to pay, and he was going to laugh as he killed them. Yes, he'd been dying for a good laugh. But his arsenal was incomplete. He had a dusty old warehouse down by the dock off of Gotham River. It was a twenty-minute drive. But once he got there, he had a stolen semi waiting. And it was filled with barrels of gas, and each was easily wired and would be quickly ready to detonate once he got them where he wanted them. The detonator was in his pocket.

And people called him crazy. Maybe he was, but he wasn't stupid. His final target lived in a huge apartment complex. And why not show Gotham he meant business and blow up the whole building? Why not kill every man, woman, and child inside? It would be beautiful. It would be a day that would sear itself in the hearts and minds of not just the citizens of Gotham, but also the whole world.

He couldn't wait. He wished he could see the look on the Bat's face when he busted into his former hideout and found it empty.

The look on his face _was_ frightening. The Joker would have howled with glee, of course. Anyone else would have probably pissed themselves. He knew it was the right spot. One of the former guards from Arkham lay propped against a wall, his face carved into that familiar Chelsea grin, his guts in his lap. A chair sat in the living room with ropes lying around it. On the wall was a note for him written in blood.

'_Darling, I'm so sorry I missed you, but I'll see you very soon. Once I make my debut you'll know where to find me. I miss you, and still want to talk, so don't be shy, come see me… Love, Joker'_ there was even a goofy smiley face drawn underneath. Batman could do nothing for several moments but snarl and curse under his breath. Was that it? Was that all he could do? Wait until the Joker killed more people? Wait until he made another homemade video? He didn't have that kind of time.

He began to search the other rooms and found a laptop computer, seemingly discarded. His breath caught for a moment. He quickly made his way over and turned it on. He searched through all the files and found nothing of interest and then went online and checked the search history. The criminal database immediately caught his attention and he clicked the last few links. Each page went to the guards who had been fired from Arkham. Not only that, he found their addresses. He felt a sigh slip free, finally some hope! He copied the last two addresses and ran out the door.

The first was a house about fifteen minutes away, still in Old Gotham. He drove as fast as he could and wasn't surprised that the house was a blackened ruin, already sealed off by police. He snarled as he checked the last address.

"Shit." He hissed. Downtown. He'd saved the best for last, the most casualties' possible at once. Jason Markus was the last name, the last guard. He lived in a towering high-rise, paid for by his rich parents. Why he'd become a guard at Arkham was a no-brainer though. He had a rap sheet a mile long for assault and battery. Each time he'd gotten off with a slap on the wrist because of his father's money. Arkham was apparently the ideal job for the young bruiser. It was a twenty-minute drive at top speed. He sped off, praying he would make it in time.

Everything was as he left it. He chuckled with glee as he threw Gordon into the back of the semi with the barrels of gas. He ignored his protests and questions, and also the strange fuzziness that seemed to fill his head. It was making concentration difficult to say the least. But it was still a simple thing to find the keys and drive the semi to his final destination. All in all it had taken about fifteen minutes. He shot the guard at the parking garage entrance and drove into the lowest level. Then he quickly made his way to the back, a tickle in his throat forcing him to cough almost continuously. It was irritating, and each cough made his head throb, further distracting him. Jim watched him work, his eyes wide with dread.

"You can't do this, you can't!" he pleaded. Joker glanced at him over his shoulder as he worked, an amused chuckle escaping him.

"You know I can, and you know I will. Who are you trying to convince here?" His voice was strange in Jim's ears, he was definitely ill, but it didn't seem to be slowing him down one bit. He began to try to slip his bonds again, slowly, carefully so as not to be noticed. But then he saw the clown stagger, a moan rising from his lips. Jim began to wriggle his hands and try to slip out of the ropes while the younger man struggled to remain conscious. He fell to one knee and a wracking cough tore through him, shaking his entire frame.

"Damn it." He gasped weakly after the spell was over. He drunkenly lurched back to his feet and bent over the wires he was connecting. Jim could see sweat running down his face. His makeup was even more frightening than usual, melted and distorted as it was. Finally the younger man straightened with a groan, turned, and cuffed Jim hard. "I'm not finished with you, yet." He grabbed every weapon available then cut Jim's bonds, except for those that held his wrists behind his back. "Now walk. We have to find our seats for the show."

The headed out of the parking garage, Jim in the lead, the barrel of the AK-47 pressed against his spine. Down an alley they went, cutting through a few more until they were about three blocks away. It was by no means a safe distance, but he knew the Joker didn't care if his rasping giggles were any indication. The building they were headed towards was completely dark except for the lobby. With a burst of gunfire the front doors shattered. Jim scanned the streets. They were surprisingly empty, but he couldn't be sure what time it was, only that it was night time. The security guard at the front desk was about to raise his pistol when the Joker unleashed a barrage of bullets that nearly cut the man in half. He giggled a moment before choking again, grimacing in pain. He used the barrel of his gun to shove Jim forward and they walked inside.

Into an elevator and up to the top floor they went. From there it was simple to get to the roof and there in front of them was a perfect view of the tower he had just rigged with explosives.

"Now, Jimmy.." Joker hissed, smacking his lips. "I want you to call our buddy, and tell him to meet us here."

"But I-" a gloved hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him backward. Jim cried out in pain before he could stop himself.

"Don't you dare lie to me. You get a hold of him, now. I know you can do it. Don't dare lie to me, or I'll skin you alive." He snarled. He cut the ropes holding Gordon's wrists and shoved a cell phone into his tingling hands. "Do it now." He snapped, and began to choke again. Jim thought a moment of fleeing, but the AK was still pointed at him. He would be cut down in seconds. He gave a shuddering sigh and dialed.

Batman was nearly there when Alfred sent him a message. Jim Gordon was trying to call him. The number was on the screen and he hit send without hesitation.

"Jim, where are you?!" he cried.

"The 'C' building! Joker wants you here-" suddenly there was a scuffling sound and Batman heard Jim cry out in pain. Then he heard a hoarse cough that went on for several seconds. A man panted in his ear for a moment.

"Hey, buddy." The Joker said, sounding exhausted. "We're waiting for you to join us. The fireworks are about to start-" the line went dead before he could respond.

The young man was choking, the sound was deep, rasping and he could hear the fluid rattling in his lungs. Each gasp he drew in between squeaked miserably. When the spasm ended he staggered again and nearly fell. Jim thought several times of making a break for it, but somehow the Joker kept the AK pointed in his direction the whole time.

"Why are you doing this?" Jim suddenly gasped as the Joker wobbled and fell to his knees. The young man forced out a painful laugh, the AK shaking in his grip.

"Because I can. Because I want to. Because I hate you and everyone. Because that fucking piece of shit guard lives there, and I want him to burn. I want them all to burn."

"That's one person, no one else has to suffer! You don't need to blow up the whole damn building!" the Joker chuckled weakly, staggering to his feet.

"Yes, I do. I don't have to explain myself to you. I don't care if you understand what motivates me. You're my bait; your thoughts and feelings are inconsequential. You'll be dead soon anyway and none of this will matter." He sneered. Jim froze with shock at the statement. Cold terror swept him and made his hair stand on end. What had made him imagine he would get out of this in one piece? What made him think he would see his family again? He was dealing with a cold-blooded killer. Had he been lulled into a false sense on security by his youth? He already knew what he was capable of! Was it the thought of Batman's imminent arrival that made him assume he would get out alive? He didn't know anything other than the fact that he was a fool. The Joker was going to kill him. He was going to die.

Suddenly the door they had used was violently kicked open, Jim felt his heart leap in his chest.

"Finally!" Joker cried, his eyes lighting up. "You're here!" he swung around so the AK was pointed at Batman.

"Let Commissioner Gordon go!" the vigilante snarled.

"First things first. Get your ass over here. We need to have a _serious_ discussion." He hissed, his features contorting in rage. Suddenly a detonator was in the Joker's hand. "I told you to get over here or I'll blow up that fucking building and kill them all." A violent growl tore from his throat as Batman's gaze switched between him and the Commissioner. "You see- that's your problem- you never. Fucking. Listen!"

"All right. Just calm down. Let Jim go, and I'll listen to everything you have to say."

"No, I don't think I will. I'm not sure I believe you; you've hurt me before. You've ignored me quite often. Look what I had to do to get your attention in the first place."

"What do you want?" Batman rasped. Joker smiled brilliantly.

"I want you to suffer." He smirked, aimed the AK at the Commissioner and pulled the trigger. The older man went down with a cry of pain and lay still. He then leveled the AK at Batman and began to fire. Batman barely had time to dodge and run. He threw several shuriken as he ran and darted towards the clown when he heard him cry out in pain. The gun fell to the ground and Batman kicked it out of the clown's reach. Joker tried to use the detonator but that was easily knocked from his grasp. To the side, Jim groaned softly and slowly sat up, a wound in his arm the only sign of injury. The Batman sighed in relief and clutched the clown's jacket lapels, raising a fist.

"Damn it!" Joker hissed. The bat had his number. Each movement was pure strength and precision. He looked like a clumsy oaf in comparison. But each breath was pure pain, he wasn't sure, but he began to suspect the Commissioner had been honest after all. His head was swimming and for a moment the dizziness became too much. He stumbled and fell, a groan tearing free from his lips. He saw a booted foot flying at him. With a startled gasp he threw himself backwards. His head struck the concrete and he blinked in astonishment as the world faded and buzzed. He had to get up, yet his limbs were suddenly refusing to respond.

Hard muscle and stifling weight crashed down upon him and for a moment all he could do was choke. A gloved hand gripped his hair and yanked. He shivered and grinned, pain making him giddy.

"That's right, Bats, show me whose in charge!" he crowed only to begin another coughing fit as his lungs seized up.

"You bastard, after what you've done I should kill you."

"Yes, you should." He said with a faint smile. He saw the Dark Knight's eyes narrow in consternation.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" the Bat roared, slapping him hard. He crowed with laughter for a moment before choking again. He recovered and suddenly bucked underneath the vigilante, trying to escape. The stronger man hit him again and again until the clown shrieked in fury.

"You fucking bastard! Why couldn't you have let me fall?!" he roared, his features twisted in sudden anguish.

"You know why!"

"Too much of a pussy, huh?" The dark knight slapped him hard. His scarred cheek hit the pavement and for a moment he couldn't move as the sudden, violent motion made him inexplicably nauseous. The world was spinning fiercely and instead of slowing and stopping it was growing more violent. He felt his stomach heave. "Shit, I'm… Gonna puke…" he gasped, trying to wrench free. "Get off- get the fuck off or I'm gonna –" he suddenly gagged and he felt more than saw the Batman recoil. He felt the man grip his shoulders and flip him over. His entire body was shaking. He began to choke and each breath was suddenly terribly painful. The nausea was slowly fading. He heard himself gasping, hyperventilating. The world was fading from view. "No," he groaned, "not yet!" he clenched his teeth and held his breath and slowly the dizziness faded, but with it went every ounce of energy he possessed.

He felt gloved hands roll him onto his back.

"Your sick…" he heard his playmate murmur. "Your very, very sick."

"I'm not!" he screamed as his head spun and throbbed. "I'm not crazy! Stop calling me that!" he tried to regain his feet but a fist slammed into his spine.

"Shut up!" the Batman roared. "I didn't call you crazy." But the mad man was no longer listening. He was hearing voices from the past. _Useless little brat… can't do anything right… shut up! Just shut up and do as your told!… don't tell anyone about this, or I'll kill ya… come 'ere boy, I got a present for ya… close your eyes… you don't like it, tough shit, boy… Take it… wish you were dead… look at me like that again I'll cut your eyes out… stop crying, or I'll give you something to cry about…_

The Jokerlay, clutching his skull. Nonsense streamed from his mouth in a steady whisper. Then he began to bash his head against the ground and scream. Batman stared down at him in shock for a moment before he slammed the rest of his weight down on the smaller man, pinning him to the ground.

"No, no! Get off, get off!" he gasped, panic suddenly infusing his words with a pleading quality.

"You have to calm down. Stop this." But the smaller man was unable to listen. He was panicking; his breaths were coming in deep, wheezing gasps. He was staring ahead, seeing something that wasn't there. And whatever it was terrified him.

"I don't wanna go in there." He moaned, his voice breaking. "Don't make me please." Batman climbed off of him and glanced at Jim, his expression confused.

"He's losing it." Jim affirmed with a small nod. "He needs help."

"Should we just take him back to Arkham?" at that the scarred man tensed and suddenly lashed out, Bruce felt a deep, horrible pain and looked down and saw a knife sticking out. The Joker was weakly struggling to get away, choking harshly.

"No, no,no,no,no.." he groaned, trying to squirm free. Batman gasped, clutching the knife. Jim was at his side in an instant. It was a small knife, it hadn't gone deep, but it hurt. He grabbed the Joker's wrist and wrenched it behind him so violently, the smaller man shrieked in pain. Then a shuddering laugh broke free and grew louder and louder. He laughed until he choked, and he choked until he retched. He shuddered violently in the dark knight's grip.

"You're going back."

"No." Joker hissed, slamming his head into the ground again. A gloved hand caught his hair and tangled roughly in it.

"Yes, you are, you need help!"

"They made it worse!" the scarred man shrieked and broke of coughing again. He moaned as the world suddenly tilted crazily and the edges of his vision grew black. He felt a hand slapping his scarred cheek but the feeling was distant. "Don't send me back…" he moaned, his voice growing weaker.

"We have to." The clown shivered and covered his face, another moan pouring forth.

"I hate you!" he suddenly screamed and he bucked and began to writhe, and somehow Batman was losing his grip. The scarred man's strength was instantly overwhelming him as the clown kicked him repeatedly and both fists flailed at his head, pummeling him. He regained his feet, kicking the dark knight in the head again and again, Jim Gordon leapt on him and struck him, but he threw him off easily.

Horrible laughter was pouring from him as he stomped Jim's head until the man went limp. Then he caught sight of his detonator and ran full tilt towards it. He scooped it up shuddering with laughter. Batman was just rising to his feet. "Now what?" he said, his hand on the key. "What are you gonna do now, Bats? I hold the key to life and death." He broke off a moment, laughing weakly. "Why shouldn't I turn it? And don't give me any crap about the 'innocent civilians'; I don't give a shit about them. I was right all along, wasn't I? I told you they would turn on you and they have. They already hate you as much as me, so why do you care what happens to them? Why can't you get your head out of your ass and see that life is nothing but a joke?" Batman panted softly, and winced as he slowly made his way over, he held up his hands to show they were empty.

"Is this what you wanted to talk about?"

"What do you care? I think we're a little past that point, anyway. All I want now is to see the look on your face when all those people burn. I want to see YOU suffer for a change." A look of outrage flashed in the dark knights eyes, and the Joker caught it before he could hide it. "Oh, yes, I know about the girl, the lawyer, whatever she was. I knew she wasn't just anyone to you. That's why I killed her. I hope it hurt." He suddenly cackled, his fingers itching to twist the key that would detonate the bomb. "Why else do you think I got Gordon here? Among all the police force he's the only one that isn't trying to throw you behind bars. If I get rid of him, you will have nothing." He trailed off as the Batman smirked.

"Not quite." He said, slowly inching closer, trying not to be obvious about it. The knife wound was steadily seeping blood, but it was nowhere near life threatening, it merely hurt.

"That's good to know, I'll enjoy destroying everything that means anything to you." He began to choke again and took a few stumbling steps back to stay clear of Batman's reach.

"Do you have a personal vendetta against every cop in the city or am I your only target?" the dark figure snarled.

"Just you, darling. Only you, always you." He breathed when he could do so without choking. He was growing dizzy again. The night was growing much darker and he had to act.

"Why?" The Joker's eyes bulged for a moment and he began to giggle, the sound rose in volume until he was in hysterics.

"How many ways can I spell it out for you? If you're the Alpha, I'm the Omega. I'm the Yang to your Yin, don't you get it? We're two sides of the same coin. How can you go back to the way things were? I can't! One day I'll make you see, if you did things my way, nothing could stop you." he giggled again, and reached for the key.

"No!" Batman cried, lurching forward, but it was too late. Explosions ripped through the night, shaking the very foundations of the building the stood upon.

"Yes!" Joker shrieked, his eyes alight with unholy glee. Batman gaped in shock as the huge building was engulfed in flames and began to rip apart. "Yes, yes, yes!" Joker screamed, stomping his feet, laughing gleefully. "This is what you get, fucker!" Two hands around his throat cut off his laughter.

"Murderer!" Batman roared.

"Yeah, do it!" Joker rasped, arms falling to his sides. His lack of resistance confused Batman for a moment, but he ignored it as fury and anguish blinded him.

Jim awoke with a groan and saw the orange sky. The shocking, surreal light woke him fully and he realized what had happened.

"Oh God…" he groaned. He heard someone snarling in rage and another voice gagging and choking. He saw the Joker in Batman's grasp. He saw the Joker's hands hanging at his sides as he refused to defend himself. "Stop!" Jim cried, staggering to his feet. "Batman, you'll kill him!"

"Shut… up" the Joker rasped, his voice barely legible. Jim ignored him and stumbled over.

"Let him go, this is what he wants, don't you see? He would rather die then go back to Arkham!" The Batman glanced at him for a moment, confusion in his eyes. "Look at him! He's not even fighting you! You have to stop, or you will be just like him! Is that what you want?" He loosened his grip and the Joker sucked in a lungful of air, coughing harshly. His eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed as the dark knight released him. "I know how you feel, but you know as well as I do that it cannot end like this. He wants you to be like him, and you know that isn't what you want. You can't go down that path, if you do I'll be the first one to come after you, even though it would break my heart!"

"I know.." Batman said softly, his expression grim.

"He's sick. He needs help. And we need to make sure he never escapes again. That's all we can do. We cannot take the law into our own hands, you know that.."

"Yes."

"He won't get out again, Arkham is long overdue for new security measures, and we can get the funding after this. No one will want to see this again…"

"Yes.." Batman said, his voice weary and disheartened.

"This isn't your fault." Jim said softly as they glanced down at the Joker who groaned softly. Batman did not reply.

He awoke barely able to breathe. His throat ached, his chest burned, and he nearly lost consciousness again as dizziness threatened to engulf him. Slowly the spinning sensation subsided and he cautiously opened his eyes. He was in a hospital ward with strangely familiar puke-green ceramic tiles on the walls. He was chained to his bed. Tubes and needles covered his arms. A nurse sat at his bedside and gasped when she saw his eyelids flutter. She immediately got to her feet and scurried away. He was so tired. He heard more footsteps and cracked one eye open to see who it was and saw a familiar face. Dishwater blonde hair parted to the side and neatly trimmed, glasses, white doctors coat…

"Welcome back, Joker." Dr. Jeremiah Arkham said with a friendly smile. He heard his heart monitor begin to beep wildly and the man's smile faded to a look of concern. _Not here! Not here! _He wanted to scream, he wanted to weep. But there was really only one thing he could do.

He began to laugh.

THE END!

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to review! I'm planning a sequel to this also, a Joker/Harley fic with a twist. I'm sick of her being the one head-over-heels and I thought wouldn't it be fun if HE were the one obsessed? What might happen then? Anyway, Thanks again to everyone and I hope you stick with me for the next part! HUGS!! – Kichi 7/23/2009


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